


Repatriation

by paperchimes



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: AU where the entire circus troupe steals from the rich to give to the poor, M/M, heist!Phineas, kidnapped!Phillip
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 16:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13791606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperchimes/pseuds/paperchimes
Summary: "There’s something you need to get clear about what I do, Carlyle.You can’t steal what never belonged."





	Repatriation

**Author's Note:**

> I'm naturally a creature of gratitude and I would like to dedicate this fic to the ever-wonderful [silverlynxx](http://archiveofourown.org/users/silverlynxx) my friend of 14 years who had not only gotten me into this great fandom (with a stunning discord server to boot!), but also changed my life by being the motivation for me to watch the movie.
> 
> Also a shoutout goes to the crazy people in the Barlyle discord server (you know who you are!) who hyped me to publish this. I love you all!

Carlyle allowed his gaze to flicker beyond the rim of his champagne flute, clicking his tongue as the effervescence stung a little while longer. With a soft _clink_ , the drink was replaced onto a nearby table, his stiff fingers uncurling from the stem of his glass. Disappointed. “He’s not here,” was his murmur to himself. Lost for any further way to occupy his time, he then allowed his eyes to wander along the intricate carvings of all that was glittering and gold.

The host of tonight’s soiree boasted that ‘this exact mansion’ was decorated top to bottom with rarities from ‘all across the globe’. Each time this was referenced within earshot, Phillip fought the urge to roll his eyes. More times than naught, anything meriting a description of that brand of splendour had a strong undertone of “stolen” hidden deep inside it. If he was in any other mood, the young heir would be tempted scrutinise each supposed exotic treasure for evidence. Each hasty scratch and bullet-hole never failed to tell the real stories of these ‘ethically acquired trinkets’.

“Phillip,” his mother’s voice, suspiciously close, broke his reverie. Before he even turned to face her, the telling sound of a lady’s giggle and glint of a jewelled fan had all but revealed her intentions. Carefully, Carlyle hid his exasperation behind an ever-charming smile, and like clockwork, bowed his head to peck the soft, outstretched hand he was graciously accepting.

 _A suitor, mother? Really? At a time like this?_  

“This is Lady…” and before she said any more, Phillip had already tuned-out on whatever extravagant title, father and inheritance this girl had. Back straightened now, he took her in: red curls, blue eyes and the hint of freckles dancing under all that paint and powder. Reassuringly, the girl’s gaze offered a non-verbal apology and Phillip’s own softened, empathetic with the pressure that coiled around her as menacingly as it did him. Painfully, he understood the visual cues of an unwilling heir all too clearly.

He felt it too.

“And so, Clarice will be spending her summer with the Winchesters, isn’t that just _wonderful_?” Almost comically, his mother had only _just_ finished the girl’s introduction, the proudest of looks beaming at both heirs. Expectation was so thick in the air, it could be sliced with a butter knife.

“Absolutely, mother,” Phillip choked a response, very much aware now of how dry his mouth was now. “Pure coincidence it being a stone-throw away from our home.” _Like hell it was_.

“ _Yes_ , my thoughts exactly, son, I am ecstatic,” her response, nauseating. Phillip flinched, feeling his instincts pull him away from the conversation before it escalated any further.

_Woooahhhhhhhhhhh!!_

By pure mercy of God, in the next moment, he would then realise he needn’t have to, as a conversation topic of its own had just made its grandiose appearance in the middle of the room.

_Woooahhhhhhhhhhh!!_

Excited murmurs grew to speculation, and speculation to anticipation, but none of the swells could have ever predicted that today of all days, and here of all places, would be the next stage.

For PT Barnum’s Greatest Show.

_“Ladies and gents this is the moment you’ve waited for.”_

_Woooahhhhhhhhhhh!!_

An explosion of colour – as vivid as the sunrise and set – spilled forth from the awnings high above, unravelling gleaming tapestries of mystical and wondrous sights Phillip had never seen before. He felt the thrum of his heart catch in his throat, sending butterflies riveting throughout his being. The excitement he was holding onto the entire evening could no longer be quelled, and to the dismay of his parents, his line of sight was then cut-off from the rest of the hall by a barrage of silver and gold confetti. It rained all around him with the dizzying speed of a million butterflies.

Phillip could hear the screams of many an aristocrat blooming around him, the obscenities hurled out to what he assumed was PT Barnum’s infamous troupe only escalating in intensity with each jewel and trinket that was snatched away.

They had been in the papers since spring, malicious headlines printed in bold: “conniving group of thieving circus freaks terrorise the rich to feed the poor”. Despite the publicity, by stroke of luck or calculated risks, the police had never gotten close to exposing their hideaway. Rumour had it that they magically appeared and disappeared within the span of an evening, taking what they could and leaving the downtrodden with fuller bellies and brighter mornings the next day. Of course, Phillip had never been anywhere _near_ their heists, lest experienced one first-hand.

But he had heard of the stunning beauty of one PT Barnum.

With a loud _bang_ that resounded throughout the room, the distinct outline of a well-poised man materialised in the eye of the storm.

_“Been searching in the dark, your sweat soaking through the floor.”_

There he was. Just mere _feet_ away from him. Phillip swallowed the lump gathering in his throat, a shaky hand tugging his bowtie loose. This was the moment he was waiting for: to see with his own eyes, the face of the elusive Mr Barnum.

_Woooahhhhhhhhhhh!!_

Step by step, to the beat of the drums, his footsteps shifted confetti and ribbon on the otherwise untarnished marble floors. The glittering dream of the circus seemed so brilliant and bright, filling his world with more colour than the humdrum of high société ever did. There was just something intoxicatingly addictive of the idea of throwing all caution to the wind.

_“And buried in your bones there's an ache that you can't ignore.”_

He felt almost insulted by the words Barnum was singing to the crowd. How _dare_ he? How dare he verbalise whatever deep, dark secret Phillip had ever kept hidden from the world?

_“Taking your breath, stealing your mind.”_

He felt it. He felt it stealing his mind from the moment he first came across Barnum’s headline.

_“And all that was real is left behind.”_

With that, he was finally close enough to touch him, and he was stunned to silence when a red-sleeved hand reached out of the confetti to snatch him away.


End file.
